


Last Resorts

by pulangaraw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-11
Updated: 2010-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulangaraw/pseuds/pulangaraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't like some of the things Sherlock does when he gets bored. So he distracts him. Mainly PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Resorts

"Sherlock! What the hell?!"

John jumped over the sofa desk and grabbed the syringe out of Sherlock's hand before the needle pierced his skin. He glared at Sherlock's supine form, only to find Sherlock glaring back at him.

"Give that back."

"No!" John broke off the needle and stuffed the syringe in his coat pocket. "I'm not going to let you kill yourself with drugs."

"You're not my mother."

"Clearly. But as long as I live here, this shit is not going to enter your veins. Is that understood."

Instead of an answer, Sherlock wrapped his bathrobe around himself and turned on the sofa in a huff.

John took this as a temporary win and went into the kitchen to get rid of whatever stuff was in the syringe. He didn't even want to know what it was or where it had come from. He still found it hard to understand how someone as smart as Sherlock Holmes could even think about taking drugs. He knew the risks.

When he came back into the living room, Sherlock was glaring at him over his shoulder. "I'm bored."

"Find yourself a case then." John sat down in the armchair and turned on the telly.

Sherlock turned around. "There are no cases. And the ones that are there are boring. Everything is boring. Life is so boring," he whined.

"You could watch 'Eastenders' with me," John suggested.

"Boring."

"How about making us some dinner?"

"Boring." Sherlock flapped his hand dramatically. "Boring, boring, boring. I am dying of boredom."

"Is that why you were trying to kill yourself with drugs?" John asked casually, his eyes fixed on the telly.

"I wasn't going to kill myself. Simply trying to release my mind for a few hours from the boredom of life. Did you throw them out?"

"The drugs?" John looked at Sherlock. "Yes. And I meant it when I said that I don't want them in the house."

Sherlock sat up. "What's in it for me?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"If you're taking away my last resort, you have to offer me another one."

If John hadn't known Sherlock that well, he would have missed the almost imperceptible smile on Sherlock's lips. But John knew the game now. If he wanted Sherlock clear-headed and healthy between cases, he had to provide the entertainment. It was better than finding Sherlock drugged up any day. He leaned back into the armchair and made his first move.

"You could take up crocheting. The place could use some lightening up." He nodded towards the skull, which had re-appeared on the mantle.

The tiny snort this earned him told John that the game was on. Sherlock leaned forward on the sofa, "I could shoot pigeons from the window with your gun."

"You could start blackmailing Sergeant Donovan." John copied Sherlock's move, leaning forward in the armchair and closing most of the distance between them.

"I could have you fuck me."

John couldn't suppress the blush that came with the rush of arousal at this suggestion. He wasn't very good at dirty talk, never had been, but he knew what it did to Sherlock. He kept his voice deliberately even. "I could tie you to the bed."

It was Sherlock's turn to blush. He leaned in even closer, until John could feel Sherlock's breath ghosting over his face. "I could let you spank me."

There was a part of John he usually kept hidden - was half ashamed of - that wanted to take him up on the offer immediately. But John pushed down the urge. It was still too soon. Instead he reached out, buried one hand into Sherlock's hair and pulled him in for a kiss. They were both perching on the edges of their respective seats and the position soon became uncomfortable. John didn't want the kiss to end, though, so he pushed Sherlock back, until he was half-lying on the sofa again, with John above him, still kissing.

Sherlock's hands were wandering over John's back, worming their way under John's shirt, making him shudder when warm palms slid across his skin. John didn't remember losing his shirt, but he became acutely aware of the fact when they slid further down the sofa and he ended up chest-to-chest with Sherlock. Who wasn't wearing anything but his boxers underneath the silk bathrobe. Feeling Sherlock's skin against his own was still so new to John that it almost came as shock, a hot flush of arousal washing through his body.

Sherlock was working his way along John's jaw, pausing to nip at John's earlobe and whisper, "I'd even let you use my riding crop."

John's hips moved of their own accord, grinding down. Sherlock matched his movements and John could feel Sherlock's erection brushing against his own. His trousers were uncomfortably tight.

"I'd have you suck me first, maybe come in your mouth," John said. Sherlock's fingers halted over his dick where they were in the process of undoing his trousers.

John lifted his head to look at Sherlock, holding his gaze. "Then take my time with you. See if I can make you come without even touching you."

Sherlock groaned, his eyes falling shut. John took the opportunity and kissed him again, sliding his tongue between Sherlock's half-parted lips, claiming his mouth.

He'd dreamed about this, about having Sherlock stretched out before him, naked and bound. Unable to interfere with whatever John decided to do to him. Sherlock trusted John, trusted him enough to let him break through his armour, let him touch Sherlock and make him shake with desire. So far, they'd not crossed the threshold of what John would label as 'kinky' other than with words, but John hoped that one day he'd get his chance. Knowing Sherlock, he'd probably surprise John by tying himself to his bed and waiting for John to come find him. That day might come sooner than anticipated, but John would be ready.

Sherlock's fingers on his cock, brought John out of his reverie. Sherlock had pushed their clothes out of the way and wrapped his long fingers around them both. He began moving them in a steady rhythm.

"I'd like to see you try." The sound of Sherlock's voice, low and breathless, combined with the feeling of Sherlock's cock and fingers sliding against his own, made John groan and shudder, arousal pooling in his gut. When he'd started this, John had been vaguely thinking about fucking Sherlock, or maybe letting Sherlock fuck him, but he was so close already it was hard to not just let go and come.

"Sherlock," John gasped, and Sherlock twisted his hand just so, rubbed his thumb over the head of John's cock and his answering, "Yes," was almost a growl. It was enough to push John over the edge.

John pressed his face against Sherlock's neck,riding the aftershocks and trying to catch his breath. He felt Sherlock's whispered "God, John," more than he heard it, as Sherlock's own orgasm overtook him.

John was drifting off to sleep, still lying half on top of Sherlock, who's hand was drawing patterns on his back, when Sherlock said, "You're right, this is much better."

Without opening his eyes, John poked whatever part of Sherlock was nearest. "Of course it is. Idiot," he said fondly.

 

The End.


End file.
